


This is something that I'll never control

by whitchry9



Series: The Death of Me [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Doctors, Friendship, Gen, Hospitalization, Hypomania, Medication, Pre-Canon, Self Harm, drunk crying avocados, family members - Freeform, health care, mental health, mental health care, slight au for some episodes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-03-30 16:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 19,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3944515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy's pretty sure he's not depressed. Sure, sometimes he gets kind of sad, and it's hard to get out of bed, but other times he's on top of the world.</p><p>Besides, Matt is definitely depressed, and how can Foggy say that he is while standing next to him?</p><p>AKA the best damn avocados, on their journey through mental illness together. Also, law school and vigilantism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There will be multiple chapters to this, but I don't know how many yet, or how long it will turn out to be.
> 
> Prompt: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/725.html?thread=861653#cmt861653

Okay, the thing was, Foggy wasn't entirely sure he was depressed. Sure, there were weeks when he had to pretty much throw himself out of bed in the morning or he'd just stay there all day, and there were times he wondered what the point of continuing breathing was, and there were times he hated himself for feeling that way, but he still wasn't sure.

Because some of the time, he felt great. He didn't need to sleep, he had a million ideas, he felt on top of the world. Life was good.

 

And he knew was depression looked like. It looked like Matt.

Matt, who had lost so much. Matt, who sometimes slept for days, or was awake for days, and had no in between. Matt, who sometimes wouldn't eat unless Foggy literally threw food at him. Matt who felt so much guilt over everything, and Foggy was sure that couldn't just be the Catholicism. Matt, who always hid his eyes from the world and his best friend. Matt, who was never happy enough with his grades or his results or anything in his life.

Matt, who Foggy had once caught standing near the edge of the roof, claiming he was listening to the city.

Foggy had been terrified he would slip, or even worse, jump.

 

Matt was depressed. Foggy was sure of it.

But if that was depression, then surely he wasn't depressed. He wasn't like that. Some of the time, sure, but not always. Foggy had good days. He had fan-freaking-tastic days.

 

And okay, maybe sometimes it exhausted Foggy to have his brain go non-stop, and sometimes after he made spectacular plans he realized they would never work, and sometimes crashed really hard after staying awake for days. But he couldn't be depressed. That wasn't depression.

Refer again to exhibit A- Matt Murdock.

Foggy Nelson, aka exhibit B, was not the same.

 

Foggy wondered if he should talk to Matt about it, he really did. He did some research on how to talk to friends about depression, and picked up a pamphlet from the health centre that Matt wouldn't be able to read. That was one of the hard things with Matt, Foggy couldn't just leave something lying around and hope that Matt saw it.

It just never seemed to be a good time.

 

* * *

 

Of course, everything seemed like a good idea when Foggy was drunk and feeling fantastic, and capable of talking a mile a minute, whatever the hell that saying meant. Thankfully Matt was drunk too, and therefore not capable enough to storm out if he didn't like the discussion. Hell, they were both lying on his bed, so if he really got angry he'd have to shove Foggy off.

 

“Matty,” Foggy began seriously, propping himself up on his elbows to look at his roommate. Matt was sprawled flat on his back, his feet dangling off the end of the bed, and his sunglasses still on his face. “I think you might be depressed.”

“What?” Matt asked, tilting his head slightly towards him.

“Dude, you're like, the poster boy for depression. You either sleep a ton or not at all, you don't eat, you feel guilty about everything, like seriously, it's not your fault that some girl was stabbed in Midtown, really. You hardly ever talk if I don't talk first, and you just seem... sad. All the time. And there was that one time I found you on the roof. Really close to the edge.”

Matt frowned. “I wasn't going to jump Foggy.”

“Yeah, you say that,” Foggy said. “But I don't know if I can believe you.”

“Well, if I'm depressed, then so are you,” Matt announced. “Like, half of those things describe you.”

“No, not all the time,” Foggy protested. “Half the time I'm just great. Super even. Like now. Now I'm super.”

“When was the last time you slept?” Matt asked, turning to face Foggy like he could glare at him.

Foggy shrugged, then remembered Matt couldn't see it. “Dunno. Couple days. It doesn't matter. We're talking about you man. Cause I'm worried about you.”

Matt was quiet for a minute, and so still that Foggy wondered if he'd fallen asleep.

 

“You didn't deny anything,” Foggy said softly, just in case he was sleeping.

“I can't,” Matt whispered back. “You're right. About the things you saw, yeah. But... I don't know if I want to commit to a label like that. I don't know if I can.”

Foggy nodded, and let his head fall onto Matt's pillow.

“You can't keep going like this though,” he added, muffled as it was. He knew Matt would hear him. The guy had Vulcan hearing.

“Neither can you,” he replied.

Foggy shifted his head so he could see Matt. “What do you mean?”

“What you're doing, going back and forth between two extremes, that's not healthy Foggy.”

“I'm not depressed,” Foggy told him. “I can't be. I'm too happy.”

Matt hummed. Foggy was pretty sure his eyes were closed now. Come to think of it, he could do with a nap too.

“Will you talk to someone about it?” Foggy asked.

Matt sighed. “Yeah. But only if you do too.”

“I'm not depressed,” Foggy protested again, but he knew the argument was futile. He wanted Matt to get help, so he'd agree to anything.

“Foggy,” Matt pleaded.

“Yeah, fine,” he sighed. He rolled his head back into the pillow. “'M sleeping here tonight,” he mumbled. “Try and stop me.”

Matt only hummed again. If he tried to do anything to Foggy, he didn't notice it before he drifted off into sleep.

 

* * *

 

Foggy woke up what turned out to be 16 hours later with a vague recollection of their conversation, and the feeling he'd agreed to something. Matt was already up, half dressed, standing in front of their hot plate that they weren't supposed to have in the dorms, making something that smelled like breakfast food. Foggy kind of loved him for it.

He yawned and peeled himself out of Matt's bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“What are you making?” he asked, squinting in the dark. Of course Matt hadn't turned any lights on, and Foggy didn't want to risk it quite yet.

“French toast,” Matt replied. He paused. “Foggy, do you remember what we talked about the other night?”

Foggy blinked at him. “Um. I think I accused you of being depressed, and then agreed to something.”

Matt nodded. “That's along the lines of what I remember too. So. I guess we're going to the doctor?”

“Is that what I agreed to?” Foggy mused. Matt flipped the French toast over in response. It was perfectly golden. Foggy didn't know how he did it.

“Jesus, what time is it? What day is it?”

“Nearly five pm. Sunday.”

“Oh my god,” Foggy groaned. “I have that paper due tomorrow.”

“I thought you finished it. Friday night. You stayed up all night, and you were typing pretty much the whole time that I heard.”

“Huh.” Foggy considered that. “Maybe I did finish it. Either way, I'll call the health centre tomorrow and make appointments for us.”

“Us?” Matt asked, raising an eyebrow. He scooped the French toast out of the pan and onto plates. It smelled so fantastic that Foggy wasn't even going to question why Matt was making breakfast for dinner.

“Yeah, that was the agreement. We both talk to someone.”

Matt frowned. “That's not how I remember it.”

“Too damn bad,” Foggy told him, brandishing a fork.

 

Foggy took a bite of the French toast. It was delicious.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hi, I'd like to make an appointment, I guess.”

“Alright, what is the appointment for?”

“To talk to someone about depression, or something.”

“Are you thinking of harming yourself?”

“Oh no, it's not for me, it's for a friend. Well, both of us. We made a deal. But no. None of that.”

“Alright, your name?”

“Franklin Nelson,” Foggy replied.

“And your friend's name?”

“Matthew Murdock.”

She was quiet for a minute. “Alright, I have two back to back appointments next Thursday the 18th. 2 and 2:30pm. Do those work?”

Foggy tried to remember his schedule. He was pretty sure that's when he had Punjabi, which he was totally okay with skipping.

“Yes, those work.”

“Alright, I've booked you both in with Dr O'Keefe. Since this will be your first visit to the clinic, we'll need you to fill out the medical history form that can be found on our website. Both you and your friend need to bring the completed form with you, as well as your student card.”

“Got it,” Foggy told her, scrawling the date and time down on a sticky note. “Thank you.”

He hung up, and went looking for the medical history form that he'd have to fill out. And help Matt fill out.

 

He printed two of them off, and started on his own.

Basic information, contact information of his parents in case he bit the dust, cell phone number, student number.

Then he got into the medical stuff. No drug allergies, or other allergies, no past medical history that he knew about.

Operations. Well, he had his wisdom teeth out. He scrawled a note in that box.

Medications, drugs, etc. None?

Street drugs. Foggy resisted the urge to write _all of them_ and instead just crossed it out.

Regular diet, no smoking, no hospitalizations, and he checked all the 'no' boxes for the TB test.

Caffeine. He resisted the urge to laugh. He was a  _law student._ They practically lived on coffee.

Exercise. He resisted the urge again.

Then it was family history, and he didn't have much clue about that. Nothing, probably? He scratched that out too.

 

Foggy glanced at the clock. 8:30. Still half an hour before criminal law started. Why had he gotten up so early?

_Because Matt woke you up when he left_ , Foggy reminded himself. The guy had left at 7:30 to go to the gym. At least when he filled in Matt's form, there would be something to put in the exercise box, rather than leaving it embarrassingly blank.

 

The sound of a key in the door snapped Foggy out of his mini pity party.

“Hey Matt, I've got us appointments for next Thursday.”

Matt tossed his gym bag on his bed. “Okay.”

“You're not going to back out on me are you? Cause you made a drunken promise. And I intend to hold you to it.”

Matt shook his head. “I'm not going to back out.”

Foggy grinned. “Good. I've got a form you've got to fill out, which means I have to fill it out. I already did your basic info, but there's some of this stuff that I don't know.” He frowned. “I probably should know if you have life threatening allergies or something.”

Matt laughed. “No allergies Foggy. I'm going to take a shower before class. There's time, right?” He felt for his watch.

“Yeah, as long as you're quick.”

Matt grinned at him. “Of course.”

 

As the water turned on, Foggy crossed out the allergy box, and wondered what to put for next of kin information. He almost didn't want to ask, knowing the way Matt's face would fall.

He just put his name and cell phone number instead.

 

* * *

 

“Diabetes slash thyroid disorder?”

“Nope.”

“Blood disorders slash anemia?”

“Nope.”

“Seizures slash head injury slash epilepsy?”

“Is that where blindness would go?” Matt wondered. “Is that a head injury?”

Foggy shrugged. “I'll check it off, just in case. Asthma?”

“Nope.”

“Congenital heart disease?”

“Nope. Do we really need to go through all of these? I'm pretty healthy except for the whole...” he gestured to his eyes.

“Okay, what about fractures or dislocations?”

“Um... I dislocated my shoulder before. And I've broken a couple bones in my foot. Oh, and some fingers. And my nose. I think that's it.”

“Oh, that's it, he says,” Foggy mocked. “Operations?”

Matt shook his head.

“Other. Oh, I guess that's where I'd put the blindness. Eh, it can be on here twice. Make sure it gets through to them.”

Matt snickered.

“Also, they ask about caffeine. I feel like writing 'law student' should be answer enough. Let's see... smoking, drugs... both nos, right? Alcohol... I'll just write alcoholic, shall I?”

“Foggy no,” Matt moaned, rolling over on his bed.

“Calm down, I'm kidding. Hospitalizations?”

“Yeah, at nine.”

Foggy paused. “Is that when it happened?”

Matt nodded.

“Got it. Anything else?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, we're done then. Oh, and I put my info down for a contact, if that's okay.”

Matt looked relieved. “Yeah, that's fine. Thanks Foggy.”

“No problem. Now let's go. Gotta learn criminal law, am I right?”

“Almost always,” Matt grinned.

“Damn right.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know exactly how the Columbia health clinic works, or if they do require a form, but I kind of wanted to be able to have Matt and Foggy talk about these things, so I threw it in. Call it artistic license.  
> Dr O'Keefe is a real doctor at the clinic. Sorry bro.
> 
> This chapter is mostly filler, but I wanted to post something, since it seems like I'm working backwards in terms of timeline. I still don't know how long this is going to be, but I have 17 pages written, with more to come.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is currently 32 pages and growing, and I've had to make a family tree for Foggy because Christmas happens and there are so many people. So there's that to look forward to.

The week and a half before their appointments soared by in a blur of readings, classes, and the occasional quiz.

Although if Foggy was being honest, they both had pretty shitty weeks. They didn't do anything on the weekend, just slept til noon and did homework. It was pretty terrible, but they were both drowning in work, with no end in sight.

Plus, Foggy just didn't _get_ Punjabi. He probably should have stuck to Spanish with Matt, who was actually good at it. At least he'd have had help.

 

They had a bit of a break between legal methods and their appointments, so they grabbed food and wandered around while looking for the right building. Well, Foggy did the looking, Matt did the mocking. Which was kind of not fair, and a bit mean, but Foggy didn't really mind.

 

They located the clinic with a few minutes to spare, so Foggy went to check them in at the reception desk.

“Just go sit man, I got this,” Foggy told Matt, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

The woman at the desk looked up at him as he approached.

“Hello, how can I help you?”

“Um, Matt Murdock and Franklin Nelson are here. For our appointments. We filled out the forms.” Foggy waved them at her.

“Alright, do you have your student cards?”

“Um, just a sec.”

Foggy went back to Matt, who was sitting in one of the waiting chairs, listening to the conversation. He already had his student card out for Foggy.

Foggy took it and handed them both to the woman, along with their forms.

She scanned their cards and handed them back, and checked something on her computer.

“Okay, I have another form you need to fill out, if that's okay.”

“Umm...” Foggy started, but she wasn't listening, instead grabbing clipboards and sheets of paper. He shrugged. Whatever.

She passed the clipboards through the window. “You and your friend both need to fill one out, then return it to me. Whose appointment is first?”

“Matt is first I think.”

“Okay. Just give those back when you're done.”

The window closed and Foggy glanced down at the clipboards before heading back over to Matt and slumping in a chair next to him.

“We've got more forms to fill out,” he sighed quietly. “And your appointment is first, so you need to get it done quickly.”

“Alright. What is it?”

Foggy took a moment to actually read the title on the page.

“'Patient health questionnaire.' That's super generic. 'Over the last 2 weeks, how often have you been bothered by any of the following problems?' The options are not at all, several days, more than half the days, nearly every day. The first one is... oh. 'Little interest or pleasure in doing things.'”

He frowned, and Matt shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

 

Foggy shook his head. “I dunno man, I feel like this is something you should fill out on your own. I can read it to you if you want, or you could probably get a nurse to do it. Confidentiality or whatever.”

Matt hummed.

“They could have had it in braille if they'd known you were blind. I can't believe that's not in your chart,” Foggy muttered.

“It's okay Foggy. I can handle it.”

He took the page back from Foggy, and picked his cane up. He tapped his way to the reception desk.

The woman working there looked up at him and blushed. “Can I help you?”

Matt smiled at her. “Yes, I've been given this form to fill out, and I was wondering if someone could help me with it? A nurse perhaps. My appointment is at 2.”

“Oh, of course. Let me just get Christine.”

She scurried off, and shortly after, returned with a woman who was probably Christine. She took Matt by the arm, and led him off down a hallway, presumably to 'help' him with his questionnaire. Foggy shook his head and returned to filling out his own.

_Over the last 2 weeks, how often have you been bothered by any of the following problems?_

Foggy considered it. He'd felt pretty great when making the appointments, but that was nearly two weeks ago, and since then, he'd gone downhill. He was okay again, but he'd struggled for a while just to get out of bed. He checked the boxes honestly.

(His total was 16. He didn't know what that meant, but it seemed high. He wondered what Matt's score was.)

 

Matt still hadn't reappeared by the time a nurse came to take Foggy to a room.

“Do you know where my friend is?” he asked the nurse. “He's blind, and I don't want him to get lost without me.”

“I'll make sure he's alright,” she reassured him. “Have you finished this?” She took the questionnaire from his hands gently. “The doctor should be in to see you shortly.”

 

It was 2:36pm before the doctor arrived. Foggy figured that was pretty damn good.

 

“Hello, I'm Dr O'Keefe,” he greeted Foggy, holding a hand out for him to shake. “You must be Franklin Nelson.”

Foggy didn't bother to correct him. This guy could call him a turtle if he wanted. Foggy just nodded.

“So you want to talk about depression. I've got the questionnaire here that you filled out. I'd like to talk through some of the answers with you. For almost every question you selected 'more than half the days'.”

Foggy shrugged. “The last two weeks weren't very good. I'm feeling better now though, and before I called to make the appointment, I was doing really well, like on top of the world.”

The doctor nodded. “So why are you here?” he asked, making a note on his clipboard.

“I don't think I'm depressed,” Foggy admitted. “I know that sometimes I can get into sort of a depressive mood, but other times I'm totally fine. Better than fine even. I agreed to this appointment to get my roommate to talk to someone, because I'm pretty sure he's depressed.”

 

Dr O'Keefe paused in making notes on his clipboard. “I know that I got you to fill out one questionnaire, but do you think you could do another for me?”

Foggy shrugged. “Sure.”

“Okay, I'll go get one. Be right back.”

 

Foggy swung his legs aimlessly waiting for the doctor to return.

“I'm going to let you fill this out in private. I'll be back in five or so minutes, okay?”

Foggy nodded, already glancing over the paper he'd been given.

 

_Has there ever been a period of time when you were not your usual self and..._

Foggy checked yes to an awful lot of them. That probably wasn't a good sign.

He checked _yes_ for number two, and checked _moderate problem_ for number three.

 

He was pondering what those results meant when the man returned.

“All done?”

Foggy handed the page back to him as a response, and his answers were tallied.

 

“Okay Franklin. You do show signs of depression, but from what you tell me, you also exhibit some other symptoms that made me suspect that might not be what you have. Have you heard of bipolar disorder?”

Foggy wracked his brain. He might have come across it in his research while looking for ways to broach the subject of depression with Matt. He just never thought it could apply to him.

“Doesn't that involve delusions or hallucinations? Cause I've never had those.”

“Mania can sometimes involve those. But bipolar type II, which is the type I suspect you have, doesn't have mania periods, but rather hypomania, which isn't quite as severe as mania.”

“You think I have it?”

Dr O'Keefe nodded at him. “The questionnaire I had you fill out is quite telling. You do fit the criteria for clinical depression, but you noted some other symptoms that lead me to believe it's not quite as simple as that. I'd be happy to refer you to a psychiatrist who can do further assessments, and prescribe medication for you, if you think you'd like to try that.”

“Drugs?” Foggy asked skeptically. “I feel fine right now.”

The doctor crossed his leg and leaned closer to Foggy. “I suspect that you're in between episodes now. So while you may feel fine for a period of weeks, or even months, you will return to cycling between depression and hypomania.”

“What about Matt?” Foggy asked.

“Your friend? I can't discuss his care with you. You can talk to him about it, if he's willing to share, but I can't divulge any details.”

Foggy nodded mutely.

“Bipolar disorder can be quite crippling if it goes untreated and interferes with your schoolwork or job. Do your moods interfere with studying or attending class?”

“Sometimes it's hard to get out of bed,” Foggy admitted. “But when I feel good, I'm fantastic at school work and studying.”

“Have your good moods ever gotten you into trouble? Getting into fights, spending money you don't have?”

Foggy shook his head. “I've definitely annoyed Matt, he's my roommate as well as my best friend, because sometimes I'll get these ideas in the middle of the night and have to get up to do things. It usually wakes him up.”

“So you have never harmed yourself or someone else while you were in one of your good moods?”

Foggy considered it. “Not that I know. Certainly not on purpose. I've probably done some stupid stuff while I was drunk, but nothing awful.”

Another note on the clipboard. “And what about when you're depressed. Do you ever harm yourself, or think about being dead?”

Foggy shook his head. “No. I don't want to die. Sometimes I just want to stop existing for a bit, but I don't want everything to end permanently. I'm not suicidal.”

Dr O'Keefe nodded. “Alright Franklin. Have you thought any more about medication or seeing a psychiatrist? We have a number of professionals on campus that are covered by your student insurance. I would like you to get a full assessment done for bipolar disorder, since I'm not qualified to make that diagnosis.”

“Alright,” Foggy shrugged.

He nodded. “Good. I'll have the receptionist make you an appointment. She'll let you know when it is. The psychiatrist will probably want to trial you on medication, so I'm not going to put you on anything. Are you open to trying medication?”

Foggy thought about it. It would be nice to not hate himself. But he didn't always hate himself. Not like Matt.

“Maybe,” he decided.

“If you have any questions, don't hesitate to call.”

Foggy got to his feet and nodded. “Thank you.”

 

He found his way back to the waiting room, and found Matt waiting for him in a chair.

Foggy kicked his foot a little. “Hey buddy. Give me a minute and I'll be ready to go.”

Matt startled slightly. Jesus, Foggy hoped he hadn't been sleeping. Matt nodded though, and Foggy stopped at the reception desk.

“I'll make you an appointment with a psychiatrist, and call you to let you know when it is,” she told him, smiling kindly.

“Thanks,” Foggy told her.

 

“Ready to blow this popsicle stand?” he asked Matt.

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Interesting choice of phrase,” he murmured. “But I can't say no to an offer like that.” He rose from the chair and found Foggy's arm.

 

The walk back was mostly quiet, both of them turning over the new information they'd gotten. Or at least Foggy was. He assumed Matt was too.

 

“So how did it go?” he asked, their dorm building within sight. His sight anyway.

“You should probably go to medical school,” Matt told him. “The doctor confirmed your suspicions.”

Foggy tried to contain his excitement, because his best friend being told he had clinical depression was not something to get excited about. But the possibility of his friend getting treatment, of feeling better, was one that he was happy about.

“And?” Foggy asked, hoping for Matt to continue.

Matt shrugged. “He told me there are medications. I'm not sure if I want to go that route though. He's sending me to a psychiatrist.”

“Me too!” Foggy interrupted.

Matt slowed. “Really?”

Foggy nodded. “Yeah, he thinks I'm bipolar. Ridiculous, right?” he lied, hoping Matt would back him up.

“I... I don't know,” Matt said honestly. “It could explain things.”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Foggy sighed. “I was just hoping you'd fight me on it, cause it'd make me feel better.”

“Sorry buddy,” Matt told him.

Foggy only sighed again, and kept walking. “You know, I could still make it to Punjabi.”

Matt stopped walking entirely. “You skipped Punjabi for this? You're already kind of failing it.”

“Exactly!” Foggy exclaimed. “One more class isn't going to make a difference. Come on Matt, let's be real here.” He slung an arm over Matt's shoulder and continued walking, dragging his friend along with him. Matt let him.

“Besides, how many people in New York actually speak it? Not like it's going to come in that handy. Not like Spanish.”

“One day you're going to regret those words,” Matt told him.

“Probably,” Foggy agreed.

 

But the future was a long way off, and he had that test tomorrow he'd mostly forgotten about, and college was supposed to be about living in the present, or something, so Foggy put Punjabi out of his mind for the time being.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize to Dr O'Keefe, as I don't know him at all. I also completely made up how the Columbia health centre works, so don't yell at me about that. Artistic license.  
> However, Foggy's schedule is completely accurate. I have no clue when Matt has Spanish, but I'm just going to go with not during Punjabi.
> 
> And for anyone eyeing the timeline of Foggy's mood swings with suspicion, he will be diagnosed with rapid cycling later on, so it's not unheard of.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny chapter, because the next one is big. Also, I may have completed the story, which has rounded out around 20k words. Still no idea how many chapters that will be though.

The receptionist from the clinic called him the next week. Matt had gotten a call the day before that Foggy assumed was the clinic calling, since no one else ever called Matt. It was kind of sad really.

 

Foggy wrote down the details of the appointment, and thanked the receptionist before hanging up.

Matt looked up from his book, which really wasn't necessary, since his fingers were doing the reading.

“Was that the health centre?”

Foggy nodded, then corrected himself. “Yeah. It's about the appointment with the psychiatrist. Apparently I'm going to see Dr Bianchi. Is that who you're going to see?”

Matt shook his head. “No, I'm going to see Dr Keable. Apparently she has experience with people who've been through trauma.” Matt sounded tired.

“And they think you've been through trauma?”

“I guess,” Matt sighed. He shrugged. “I already did trauma recovery when I was younger.”

“Was it helpful?”

Matt smirked and shook his head. “Not in any way that's actually applicable. It was mostly BS.”

Foggy nodded. “Sounds about right. Do you think this'll be any better?”

Matt shrugged. “I guess I'll find out.”

Foggy nodded again. “When's your appointment?”

“Week after next. You?”

“Same.”

Foggy sighed. “We have that torts test tomorrow don't we?”

Matt nodded at him. “You might have figured that out if you'd been listening to me at all over the last couple of days. I've been reading the textbook almost nonstop.” He held up the book as proof.

“Your book all look the same to me,” Foggy groaned. “How was I supposed to know it was the same book?”

Mat shrugged. “I'm almost done this chapter, then we can quiz each other if you want.”

“I don't want to,” Foggy grumbled, “but I need to.”

Matt smirked at him and returned to running his fingers over the pages. Foggy was certain that Matt was a faster reader than him, which just wasn't fair.

 

Foggy allowed himself two minutes of sighing into his pillow before forcing himself to get up and find the damn textbook to start studying. It was going to be a long night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those are both real psychiatrists at the university, who I haven't met, and am only using their names.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have finally finished this, so I can now say there will be 20 chapters, with a total of about 20k words.

Matt aced the torts test, of course, and Foggy passed with a relatively decent mark that he was pretty proud of, considering he'd only started studying the day before.

 

The weeks before the psychiatrist appointment passed much like the weeks before the doctor appointment, filled with studying and classes and trying to find time in between to have the college experience.

 

Matt had his appointment with the psychiatrist the day before Foggy had his. Matt returned in a sort of mood that Foggy would have expected to come with a portable rain cloud, so he didn't ask. They respected each other's boundaries. That was one thing they were good at.

 

He didn't sleep well that night, anxiety causing his thoughts to race, rather than settled into something conducive to sleep. Or maybe it was the caffeine. Hard to tell.

 

His appointment wasn't until the afternoon, so he still had to suffer through morning classes. He was fairly certain he didn't learn anything about criminal law or contracts. He skipped torts, since he'd have to leave during the middle of it anyway, and went to get food. Matt would take notes, and then Foggy would somehow get the information from him. Somehow.

 

He showed up for the appointment 15 minutes early, more nervous than he'd like to admit.

 

The receptionist was kind and welcoming, and directed Foggy towards a room with couches and comfy looking chairs. Dr Bianchi was sitting in one of them, but he got to his feet to greet Foggy. He seemed relatively young, and pretty cheery.

“Hello Franklin. I'm Dr Bianchi.”

“Foggy,” he corrected. “Everyone calls me Foggy.”

Dr Bianchi smiled. “Nice to meet you Foggy. Why don't you take a seat and we'll get started.”

Foggy situated himself in a comfortable chair and settled in for what was probably going to be complicated and uncomfortable.

“Now Foggy, you're here because Dr O'Keefe at the clinic suspected you could have bipolar disorder. Did he discuss this with you?”

Foggy nodded. “It made a lot of sense,” he admitted. “Even if I didn't really want it to.”

“Well I agree with his initial assessment, but he was right to refer you to me. I'm going to do a more in depth assessment, and hopefully by the end we'll be able to figure out what's up with you. Does that sound alright?”

Foggy nodded, and Dr Bianchi smiled at him. “Alright, let's get started.”

 

* * *

 

 

The assessment took nearly an hour, Dr Bianchi asking him all sorts of questions about his moods, his behaviour, his actions. They talked about Foggy's childhood, his family history, and his schoolwork. It felt more like a conversation than it did an assessment, although Foggy did notice him ticking boxes on occasion. They even talked about Matt a bit, and Foggy admitted he only agreed to speak to a doctor so Matt would as well.

 

“For a while I didn't think I was depressed, because if anyone was depressed, it was Matt.”

“Depression doesn't just come in one form,” Dr Bianchi told him gently. “Just because your roommate is depressed and presents in one way doesn't mean that you're not depressed because you present differently. No one has a monopoly on sadness.”

“I know that,” Foggy protested weakly. “But there were times that I was so sure I was wrong because I felt great. Like everything in the world had aligned just for me. I could get an essay done in a matter of hours, read my entire textbook in a night, not need to sleep for days or feel rested after only a few hours. It felt like having superpowers. But it would always end, and it made the depression worse when I remembered how great it felt.” He sighed.

“How often do the mood changes occur?”

Foggy shrugged. “It varies. Sometimes I'm depressed for weeks or months. The high feelings usually only last for a couple days, maybe a week. I usually have a period in between where I'm okay.”

“Say in the last year, how many times have you been depressed?”

Foggy considered it. “Five, maybe six?”

“And what about feeling high, or good?”

“Less. Four maybe?”

Dr Bianchi made a note and nodded at Foggy.

“Is there anything else you'd like to add, anything you want to talk about that we haven't?”

Foggy considered it. “No, I think I'm good.”

Dr Bianchi nodded again. “Just give me a second, I've got to do some math here.” He flashed a smile at Foggy.

Foggy watched him count under his breath before scrawling some more notes to himself on the opposite side of the paper.

“Okay. Based on the forms you've filled out, and everything you've told me, I do believe you have bipolar disorder, specifically type II, since you haven't experienced a mania episode. Additionally, I believe you have rapid cycling type, since you have experienced a number of episodes in the last year. More than four is required for the diagnosis, and you qualify. What do you think?”

Foggy only shrugged. He wasn't sure what to think. He'd known this was probably coming for weeks now, and he still wasn't prepared for it. _He was bipolar._ Yet another 'bi' to add to the list.

“I'd like to try you on medication to treat the symptoms, and hopefully improve your quality of life, especially in regards to the depression, since that seems to be affecting you the most. Are you open to trying medication?”

What did he have to lose?

“Sure,” he said.

Dr Bianchi leaned back in his chair and studied Foggy. “Good. You don't have to stay on them if they don't work, but I like to tell all my patients that it's worth a try. I'm going to start you on lithium and an antidepressant. The lithium treats the hypomania symptoms, and it's thought to have some effect on depression symptoms as well. Considering the depressive symptoms are the ones that seem to be bothering you the most, I'm going to put you on an antidepressant for that. Now, the antidepressant will take at least four weeks to start working, so if you don't see any change in your mood before then, don't worry. The lithium will start to work in one to three weeks, and may help some of the depressive symptoms before the antidepressant starts to work.”

Foggy nodded along with him.

“For the lithium I'm going to prescribe one pills, twice daily. Try and take it at breakfast and before you go to bed, alright? They're extended release, so you don't have to take as many.”

Foggy nodded again. He was starting to feel like a bobblehead that you'd find in a car or something.

“The antidepressant I'm going to prescribe is sertraline. The brand name is sometimes Zoloft. The dose I'm going to start you on is one pill once a day. After a week, I want you to increase to two pills once a day. After another week, increase to three pills once a day. Got it?”

Foggy nodded.

“All this information will be on the prescriptions and the drug bottles the pharmacist will give you, but I'm explaining it now to make sure you understand. Do you have any questions?”

Foggy shook his head.

“That's good. I want you to come back and see me in three weeks, sooner if you have any problems. Do you have any questions for me, anything you'd like to discuss now? About the diagnosis, the medications, anything.”

Foggy shook his head. He wasn't entirely certain he was capable of forming coherent sentences.

Dr Bianchi got to his feet and extended his hand.

Numbly, Foggy followed suit.

“It was a pleasure to meet you. I'll see you soon.”

“Thank you,” Foggy managed. He concentrated very hard on not tripping over his feet as he left, and was proud to say he succeeded.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important things to note: antidepressant can actually cause hypomania/mania episodes in people with bipolar disorder, and often aren't given for that reason. Also, giving lithium and an antidepressant together can increase the risk of serotonin syndrome (which Foggy will be warned about in the next chapter.)  
> I'm not sure if a real psychiatrist would have prescribed these two meds together, and I'm sorry if IRL Dr Bianchi is a perfect human being and would never do that. I'm just using his name.
> 
> I've also never had an assessment done for BD, so if there are any inaccuracies, please forgive me.
> 
> Some of the upcoming chapters are darker, and warnings will be posted for them. Just a heads up.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, before shit starts to go down.

Foggy filled the prescriptions. He listened as the pharmacist told him about the possible interactions between the two drugs, which sounded kind of awful. He read the information pamphlets cover to cover, and looked up the medications online.

He felt prepared and informed enough to make a decision. So he decided he'd try them.

 

He started medication on Thursday.

The first week was alright. He had some minor side effects. Foggy couldn't tell which drug they were from, but he figured at least one of them could be to blame, maybe even both, and they were so minor that he didn't really care.

 

He told Matt that he was taking medication, just in case the guy found the bottles and started panicking about Foggy taking study drugs or something. Which he wouldn't do.

 

Matt hesitated before asking what the medication was for.

Foggy sighed. “He agreed with the clinic doctor. I'm officially diagnosed with bipolar type II.”

Matt tilted his head before nodding. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Foggy shrugged, but Matt didn't respond. Of course. Whoops. “Not really,” he admitted.

“Well, I'm here if you do,” Matt concluded, turning his attention back to his laptop.

Foggy considered asking how Matt's appointment with the psychiatrist went, but decided it could wait til another time.

 

The next Thursday he doubled the dose of the antidepressant, just like he was told to. He didn't notice any changes.

 

The Thursday after that he increased the dose yet again. It was almost finals time, and he was hoping that he wouldn't fall into a depressive state right when he needed to be studying the most. He wasn't sure if the meds were helping, or if he was just in between episodes, but he hoped it was the former.

 

He still wasn't sure how Matt was doing, since the guy would ask him every couple of days how he was doing, but when Foggy asked, wouldn't reciprocate. But he seemed to be doing alright (which Foggy knew meant nothing, like really, but it was all he had) so he left it alone.

 

* * *

 

He reached the weekend and felt sort of... off. But not anything that he'd read about in the information pamphlets, so he didn't think it was anything to be worried about. He wasn't dying.

Probably just psychosomatic.

 

Finals started next week, and Matt had already begun to study. Foggy probably should have started too, but he couldn't quite bring himself to focus for long enough. Still, he dragged out his Punjabi notes and attempted to make any sort of sense of the language. He predicted he'd last no more than an hour before rage quitting.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter: self harm, blood, cutting.

Foggy was restless.

Not only that, but he was vaguely sad in a way that he didn't understand.

He had made it through an hour of Punjabi studying, mostly just to prove himself right, but had quickly given up at the end of the hour. He'd moved on to... well, he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing. He had at least a dozen tabs open on his computer, and was switching through them, none of them catching his interest. He wasn't sure why he had so many open, but he knew they were probably important.

Matt was sleeping across the room. Probably. He could have been reading under the covers for all Foggy knew. That was a bonus of braille. It didn't require light.

Foggy hopped off his bed and started doing tight laps in the minimal space next to it. His skin was starting to hurt.

He kind of wanted to go up to the roof and let the wind blow all the sounds and smells of the city past him. God, that sounded great. Maybe if he dragged a sleeping bag up there he could fall asleep, wrapped in the arms of New York.

No, he didn't have a sleeping bag. Why didn't he have a sleeping bag?

 

Except it was winter and would probably be too cold up there. So maybe not.

 

His hands twitched with the urge to do something. He wasn't sure sure what, but something. Anything, before he started tearing apart his pillow just to give his hands something to do.

He didn't really want to tear something apart, he wanted to create. To breathe life into something. He wondered if this was how artists felt, if Van Gogh or Picasso had the same feelings he did.

Maybe he should attempt art. He didn't have any markers or paint, of course, and it wasn't like he could borrow them from Matt. He had pencils, but he didn't really want to use them to draw. He wanted something more visceral, that he could really dig into.

_Oh!_

He knew he had a craft knife somewhere. Why he'd packed it, he wasn't sure, but it would come in handy. He had an image of what he wanted to do in his head, a pattern of sorts.

“Aha,” he whispered, digging it out of one of the boxes.

_Now just to find something to carve._

 

He located the perfect canvas and sat back down on his bed, taking his shirt off so it wouldn't get dirty as he worked. He hesitated before making the first line, but grew more confident as he went. He felt like _god._

His hand slipped. “Shit,” he hissed.

“Foggy?” Matt asked. He sounded half asleep.

“Sorry. Go back to sleep. I'm just a bit... restless. Sorry.”

Matt rolled over.

 

Foggy continued. The room was dark, but he could still see his handiwork. (Was that a pun? He wasn't sure.)

_Focus,_ he told himself. 

The pattern was hard to see under the beads of blood, but it had turned out better than he'd expected. Foggy was never good at art.

He dabbed at some of the blood with his pant leg. It required a bit of contorting his leg, but he made it work.

Not bad.

 

Foggy glanced back at the blood on his pants. Oh god. Oh god.  _Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god-_

What had he done? Why did he think using his own skin as canvas was a good idea?

_Oh my god I'm losing it this is it I'm insane and I'm going to bleed out oh my god what are my parents going to think of me._

 

“Matty,” he whispered. Matt didn't stir, “Matty I think I need to go to the hospital,” Foggy said quietly.

Matt shot out of bed. “What is it?” He paused. “Oh,” he whispered.

Foggy wasn't really sure how Matt knew. Maybe he could smell the blood. Maybe it was just the way Foggy had said it.

“I'll call a cab.”

While he did, Matt wandered off into the bathroom. Foggy could hear him muttering, but not what he was saying. Matt returned with a roll of gauze Foggy didn't even know they had, his phone in his hand once again.

“Fifteen minutes,” he said. “Are they deep?”

Foggy held his arm out, like Matt could examine it. “No?”

Matt handed him the gauze. “Wrap it up.”

Foggy obeyed wordlessly, the fervour that had gripped him only a short while ago now gone.

“I don't think the meds are working,” he said flatly. The gauze unrolled smoothly, and Foggy watched, only somewhat interested, as the white absorbed the blood and stained red.

“No,” Matt agreed. “But it's okay.”

Foggy shook his head. It wasn't okay. But he didn't want to say it, because he'd probably start crying. He was tired. So tired now.

He finished wrapping his arm and tucked the end of the gauze underneath.

Matt nudged him. “Are you dressed?”

Foggy shrugged. “Um. Mostly?”

Matt reached a hand out to touch Foggy's bare chest. “Shirt,” he reminded him.

Foggy nodded. He'd taken his shirt off so it wouldn't get bloody. He pulled it back over his head.

He couldn't bring himself to change his pants, even with the blood on them. Matt didn't know though. He would make him change if he knew, which was all the more reason not to tell him.

 

* * *

 

 

Matt helped him into the cab. It should have been the other way around, but Matt was the one who led Foggy out of the dorms and to the street. Matt was the one who made sure Foggy put a coat on before leaving.

And Matt was the one to help him into the cab.

It was kind of sad, really.

 

It was dark, with only the passing streetlights illuminating the inside of the cab.

Matt still had his pyjamas on. It was hilarious to Foggy for some reason, and he burst out giggling.

Of course, that concerned Matt even more.

“What is it Foggy?” he asked.

Foggy only shook his head, unable to speak for the giggling.

 

It was a few minutes, but he finally caught his breath.

“You're wearing pyjamas,” he told Matt.

Matt smiled at him, but it seemed forced. He was right. It wasn't funny. Foggy didn't know why he thought it was funny.

 

He was tired of medication not working. He was tired of feeling like shit. He was tired of feeling this way. He was just tired.

He knew Matt was too. For him, and for himself. Foggy knew the strain that he was putting on his roommate.

 

“A mixed state,” he said quietly.

“What?” Matt asked.

“When you have hypomania symptoms at the same time as depressed symptoms. A mixed state. I think that's what this is.”

Matt patted him on the shoulder. “We'll get this fixed.”

He didn't sound as certain as he pretended to be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based a lot of Foggy's emotions and headspace on an account of a mixed episode by a person with BD. As always, experiences vary between people.
> 
> While taking lithium and an antidepressant can work for some people, in others it can induce hypomania, or a mixed episode, like it did for Foggy.
> 
> *handwaves at medical stuff and shrugs*


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter.

He didn't end up on a 72 hour psych hold, which he was eternally grateful for. He did have to go see Dr Bianchi first thing in the morning to readjust his meds, and daily for the rest of the week, but he wasn't forced to stay in the hospital.

His arm didn't even need stitches, a fact that Matt seemed relieved about.

 

The ER doc had called in the psychiatrist on call, who had confirmed it sounded a lot like a mixed episode. When she heard the meds Foggy was on, she frowned.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing is wrong. It's just that patients are usually tried on lithium alone before adding an SSRI. They can sometimes contribute to a hypomania switch. Was your depression particularly severe?”

Foggy shrugged. His arm was starting to hurt, and he was exhausted. The fact that he had classes in only a few short hours, as well as another appointment didn't escape him.

“Okay. Well I'm going to give you a medication that's been helpful for other who've had mixed episodes.”

Foggy nodded. Anything to stop the way his skin wanted to crawl off his body and go out to do something without him.

 

He fell asleep for a little while after that, when the drugs kicked in and his mind finally settled, leaving him just exhausted, rather than exhausted and full of relentless energy.

Matt was the one who woke him. Still in his pyjamas, of course.

“Hey buddy,” he said softly. “You're getting discharged.”

His fingers trailed over the bandage on Foggy's arm as he helped him out of bed. Foggy's limbs were heavy, and he kind of wanted to sleep for a week.

“You've got an appointment with your psychiatrist in an hour and a half,” he said apologetically.

Foggy nodded. “Thanks.” They both knew it wasn't just for the appointment.

Matt patted him on the shoulder. “Come on. Let's get home. You might have time for a nap before the appointment, if you're lucky. I'll make French toast for when you wake up.”

Foggy offered his arm, the uninjured one, and Matt took it.

God, what did he do to get such a great roommate?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh, Foggy would have probably ended up on a 72 hour psych hold (5150) because he was a danger to himself, but for the sake of the story, let's let it happen.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some discussions of self harm in this chapter. Nothing new, just carry over from previous chapters.

“I didn't want to kill myself,” Foggy sighed. He was sitting in a chair in Dr Bianchi's office. He'd slept for twenty minutes before Matt woke him up and handed him a plate of French toast. Matt even walked him over, despite knowing he'd miss the start of criminal law. Foggy was going to miss it entirely. Maybe even part of contracts, depending on how it went. He couldn't really bring himself to care.

“It was just...” he sighed. “I don't know how to explain it. It wasn't something I'd experienced before. I think it was a mixed episode. The emerg doctor agreed. It was just awful. Give me depression or hypomania over it any day.” He shook his head. “I don't want to experience that ever again.”

“And you've never experienced something like a mixed episode before?”

Foggy shook his head. “No, that's something I'd remember.”

“Then it was probably a result of the medications. Sometimes they can interact in ways that leads to more hypomania episodes or mixed episodes.”

Foggy sighed. _Then why did you put me on them?_ “The doctor at the hospital said the same thing.”

“It's unfortunate, but it does happen. I'm going to stop the antidepressant and trial you on just the lithium. Did you have any major side effects?”

Foggy just shrugged. “Nothing that really bothered me.”

Dr Bianchi nodded. “And even if you did have some side effects, they may have been due to the antidepressants. Take the same dose, at the same time you did before. But no more taking the antidepressant. Got it?”

Foggy nodded.

“You've got an appointment scheduled tomorrow, same time, just for a quick check in. It looks like you're out of the mixed episode, but I want to keep an eye on you just in case.”

Foggy nodded. It made sense, and as long as it kept him out of a locked psych ward, he'd do almost anything.

“Now. What exactly happened last night?”

Foggy shrugged. He still wasn't entirely sure on that front. His memory of the evening was covered in a haze. Could have been the lack of sleep, or just the mindset he was in at the time, but he was having a hard time recalling details.

“I don't really know how exactly I was feeling. I had a lot of energy, but I knew I'd been awake for days and should have slept. I wanted to do something, but nothing seemed right, and it made me mad cause I just needed something to do, to use all that energy on.”

 

“So what led to the self harm?”

Foggy glanced down at his arm, the gauze covered by his long sleeve, not out of place in the winter.

“I don't know. I wanted to create something, but I guess... the only canvas I had was my skin. And I know that makes it sound pretty fucked up, cause it's almost poetic, in a disgusting serial killer way. I honestly don't know. I wasn't thinking clearly at the time. I know that now. It just seemed right at the time. And then when it sort of sunk it what I was doing...”

“That's when you realized you should go to the hospital?”

Foggy nodded.

“It was good of you to realize that. A lot of people, whether they're in hypomania or mixed episodes, don't recognize the damage they're doing at the time. Not until they come down, and by then, it can't be undone.”

Foggy shrugged.

“You said your roommate, Matt?-” Foggy nodded. “-he went with you to the ER?”

Foggy nodded again. “And stayed with me and took me home and made sure I ate breakfast before coming here. He worries a lot about me. And I worry a lot about him.”

“It's good that you have a support system here at school. Are your parents aware of your health conditions?”

Foggy made a face. “Not really? They know I've been seeing someone, but I haven't told them any specifics. I don't want them to worry.”

“Well, you are an adult, but they're still your parents. You should consider telling them. How's your relationship with them?”

Foggy shrugged. “Not bad. We're not super close either. My mom wanted me to be a butcher.”

Dr Bianchi hummed and made a note on his clipboard.

He looked up at Foggy kindly. “Get some rest today. I can email your teachers, let them know what's going on. Have you thought about registering with disability services? They can ensure that your teachers are aware of everything you're going through, even get you accommodations for assignments or tests that you might have not done so well on because of medication issues and so forth.”

Foggy shrugged. “Doesn't that take a while? It's almost exam time.”

“It can take a couple of weeks, but if it's urgent, they do their best to make sure you're accommodated in time. They want you to succeed.”

Foggy shrugged again. He was still feeling somewhat apathetic, perhaps on the start of a downswing.

“How about I email your teachers? Would you be alright with that?”

Foggy nodded.

“I'll need you to sign a form giving me permission. Legally. You should know all about that, right?” he smiled at Foggy.

Foggy attempted a grin. “Yeah, I can do that.”

 

Foggy signed the form before leaving the office. He could probably make it to contracts on time before it started, but he had been told to rest.

He decided that he would nap, and then go to his afternoon classes.

He texted Matt to let him know before passing out on top of his covers.

There were still some drops of blood that had begun to stain, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the week crawled by in a similar way. Foggy could tell Matt was concerned about him, but he was too tired to bring himself to care much. He wasn't sure if he was at the beginning of a depressive episode, or if it was just let down from his mixed episode.

 

Matt prompted him to change the bandage on his arm, and once ran his fingers over, assessing. It had scabbed over by then, and was well on its way to healing. It would scar though, Foggy was sure of it.

“It's a... pattern,” Matt murmured. His fingers were light on Foggy's arm, delicate and careful.

Foggy winced. “Yeah,” he sighed.

“It's healing well though,” he noted.

Foggy rolled his eyes. “Jesus, you've got magic fingers now?”

“Language,” Matt reminded him.

Foggy sighed. “Sorry.”

“And I can feel the scabs. Not unlike braille.”

Foggy hummed.

“It doesn't need to be wrapped up again. You can leave it open to the air. It'll help.”

“Thanks,” Foggy muttered.

“Are you doing okay?” Matt asked gently.

“Are you?” Foggy replied.

“Don't deflect,” Matt scolded him.

“Not sure I'd go as far as okay. Better, definitely. Tired,” he admitted.

Foggy couldn't help but feel like Matt was examining him behind his sunglasses.

He nodded finally.

“And you?”

Matt shrugged. “No complaints here.”

Foggy sighed. He was fairly certain that Matt was lying, or at least not telling him the whole truth, but it just wasn't the time.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did actually make a family tree for this, because hella family members and I couldn't keep track of them all without it.

They were both studying that weekend when Foggy brought up the subject of Christmas.

“So what are you doing for the holidays?” he asked, shoving aside his criminal law textbook. It was the first exam they had, and he knew that Matt was reading his across the room.

Matt paused running his fingers over the page. “I don't know. Church. Food. Why?”

Foggy shrugged. “You could come home with me. The Nelson clan has heard a lot about you, and my mom's been asking when she's going to meet you.”

“You... tell them about me?” he asked.

“Um, yeah. It's not like they want to hear about this,” Foggy scoffed, gesturing to the mess of textbooks on his bed. “I just pointed to all the school stuff.”

Matt hummed. “I don't want to intrude.”

Foggy propped himself up on his elbows. “Dude. You know how many people we cram into our house? You won't even be noticed amongst all the random relatives.”

“Oh, what, you've got a lot of blind gingers in your family?” Matt raised an eyebrow.

Foggy scoffed. “Dude, shut up. You're coming. I can't leave you here. It would just be sad.”

“I'm not sad,” Matt protested.

“Don't argue. It won't help.”

Matt opened and closed his mouth a couple of times like a fish. He finally sighed. “Fine.”

“Good,” Foggy said, satisfied. He settled back on his pillows. “Cause I already told my mom I was bringing you.”

“Foggy-” Matt started to protest.

“Nope,” Foggy said cheerfully. “You already agreed. Hey! Let's talk about criminal law.”

Matt sighed, but returned to his textbook. “Criminal law,” he agreed.

 

* * *

 

Exams managed to arrive at lighting speed, and yet crawl by incredibly slowly. Foggy didn't know much about physics, but there was probably a law explaining it.

 

It involved a lot of coffee, sleepless nights, and carbohydrate filled snacks, but they made it through exams. They crashed hard that night and slept til noon the next day.

 

They took a bus to Foggy's house the day after, backpacks stuffed to the limit with clothes and presents Foggy had picked up during their trips off campus. Half of them were in Matt's bag, because they wouldn't all fit in Foggy's. They were both bundled up in scarves and hats, because the wind was biting and the sky was threatening snow.

 

They were halfway there when Foggy realized he should probably warn Matt about just how far his family actually extended.

“Okay,” Foggy said. “Run down of the Nelson clan. Technically they're not all Nelsons, but whatever. I'd draw you a diagram, but...” he shrugged.

Matt laughed. “I'll try to remember it all.”

“Okay. So there's me and my sister Lili. She's sixteen and kind of a pain, but whatever. There's my parents, Rosalind and Edward. My dad is one of five, and my mother is an only child, so that's why it's pretty much the Nelson clan.”

Matt nodded.

“Okay, so there's aunt Nora, who is married to Gillian. There's Derek, who's married to Karla, and they have three kids, Marlene, who is our age, Nicholas, who's a preteen, and Alexis, who's grade school I think. I don't see them very often. Cindy is single, and plans to stay that way. She's a CEO or something, and takes her career very seriously. Andrew is the youngest of the five siblings, and he's raising Maya on his own. She's pretty adorable. She's probably around five now or something. Oh wait, gotta go back. Nora and Gillian adopted a bunch of kids together. I don't know if they'll be there, but there's um... Samuel, Isaiah, and Bradley. They're all off at college or whatever now, so I don't know if they'll come.”

Foggy paused for breath. “Oh, dammit, grandparents. So both grandfathers are dead, but I've still got both grandmothers. I don't know if my mom's mother will be there, but my dad's mother will. Her name is Charlotte.”

Matt considered that. “Lots of family members.”

Foggy nodded. “You got that right.” He shrugged. “It can be nice, but also overwhelming. Our apartment isn't really big enough to stuff them all in, but we manage. Somehow.”

“Bigger on the inside?” Matt grinned.

Foggy groaned. “Oh I wish it was. Would have really helped with the closet issue.”

Matt smirked at him.

Foggy realized what he'd said. “Shut up,” he muttered, blushing.

“Have you told them?”

“About what?”

Matt shrugged. “Either.”

Foggy sighed. “No to both. ”

Matt nodded. “I'll be sure not to mention anything then.”

“Thanks man.”

“No problem. You're taking me home like a stray puppy, so it's the least I can do.” He grinned.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Thankfully, only Foggy's immediate family was there when he and Matt arrived, so he'd have time to get Matt settled, instead of spooking him like a racehorse or something.

As it was, he was pretty sure Matt was overwhelmed enough. His mother hugged him. Thankfully his dad didn't attempt it. Lili just stared at him and didn't say anything.

 

At least he told them that Matt was blind. It would have been a bit confusing if he hadn't. Then it would really be like he'd just brought home a stray puppy.

 

Matt was perfectly charming, of course.

“Rosalind,” he said, smiling and shaking her hand. “Thank you for having me.”

“Oh, it's no trouble. Franklin has told us all about you.”

Matt grinned. “All good I hope.”

“Nah, I definitely told them about the time we killed those freshmen and buried them in the woods,” Foggy grinned, grabbing a drink from the fridge.

“Foggy,” Matt hissed. “We swore never to speak of it again.”

Foggy smirked. “Want a drink?”

Matt shook his head.

“Okay. I'll take you around the house. Just a sec.” He took a long drink before setting his cup down on the counter. “Just leave your bag here for now. We'll come back for it later.”

He offered Matt his arm.

“Okay, kitchen, and you've been in the entrance. Living room is... um... ten steps forward? That's where the tree is. Artificial, which is why you can't smell it.” He shuffled over a couple steps to lead Matt past the dining room table. “We just went through the dining room, by the way. I know, contain your enthusiasm. We've almost reached the end of the house, but first, we have a half bath and a laundry room. I doubt you'll need to use the laundry room, but the bathroom in on your left. I'm using my tour guide voice, is it good?”

“Fantastic,” Matt agreed.

“Nailed it. Okay, the stairs are back at the front, so now we'll just reverse.” Foggy led Matt back through the house, and up the stairs.

“Thirteen steps,” Foggy told him. “I know because I counted all the time when I was forced to traipse up and down them.”

Matt grinned.

“Okay, my parent's bedroom is behind us to the right. The hallways is super tiny, so sorry.” Foggy was practically dragging Matt behind him at this point, because they couldn't both fit side by side. “That's Lili's room to the right. This one is the bathroom, and my room is at the end of the hall.”

Foggy paused for a second to flick the light on. “Huh. It's cleaner than I remember. I think my mother cleaned it. Weird.”

Matt grinned. He felt around for the bed, and seated himself on it. “That ever happen before?”

“Not that I can remember,” Foggy admitted. “Although when I was doing my undergrad, they used my room as storage. Maybe this time they just remembered to take all the crap out before I got home.”

“They seem nice,” Matt noted.

“They are pretty good,” Foggy agreed.

“I think they'd probably take it well enough,” Matt said gently.

Foggy sat on the bed next to him. “Which one?” he sighed.

“Either. Both. It's up to you though. You know I'm not going to tell them.”

Foggy nodded. “I will,” he said quietly. “Just not now. Not at Christmas, when there's so much going on. It's just not the time.” He stretched. “So, you've got the bed. I'll make a blanket nest on the floor, and it'll be good. Just try not to step on me, okay?”

“Foggy, I'm not going to take your bed.”

“Um, yeah you are. Or my mother will make you. Like, she will physically remove me from it and place you in it.”

Matt chuckled. “Foggy, I'm fine with the floor. Really. You can even tell your mother I'm sleeping in the bed and everything. A blanket nest sounds really great, actually.”

Foggy sighed and rubbed his face. “Okay, we can try. But if my mother decides to blame me for this, because she would never blame you, I'm probably going to end up sleeping in a snowbank.”

Matt grinned. “I'll smuggle you back in. Like a puppy.”

“No, dammit!” Foggy protested. “You're the puppy. I'm the cool dude that everyone falls in love with because he rescued an adorable helpless puppy.”

“Foggy,” Matt scolded.

Foggy waved a hand. “Yeah, I know. We should probably go down and get our crap.”

“Mostly your crap,” Matt reminded him.

Foggy sighed. “Yeah. And wrap all those presents. Hey, how good at you at wrapping?”

“Not bad, if you tell me which side is the inside of the paper.”

Foggy groaned. “I can see it now. Every single present from me, underneath the tree, the wrapping paper inside out.”

“It's not my fault,” Matt said seriously.

Foggy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay Stevie Wonder. Let's go.”

Matt took Foggy's arm again. “Thirteen steps you said?”

“Yep,” Foggy agreed.

 

* * *

 

Matt fit in well over the next couple of days. He was his typical charming self, although Foggy noticed he didn't sleep much at night. Matt insisted it had nothing to do with the sleeping arrangements, and that the blanket nest was cozy, really.

 

He noticed that Matt watched him take his medication, as much as he could watch anything. He supposed that Matt was worried about him forgetting without the routine of school. Foggy kept the meds in his room, buried in his backpack, just in case one of his family members wandered in and saw the bottles.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matt could totally tell what side of the wrapping paper was the outside, and then deliberately wrap them the wrong way just to be a little shit.


	12. Chapter 12

Christmas Eve was the day that the whole Nelson family got together to share dinner and exchange presents. It was an informal affair, but Matt seemed nervous about the whole thing, tugging at the collar of the sweater that Foggy had given him to wear. It was mostly a joke, and it was pretty hideous, but it was festive and red, and that's all that mattered.

“Dude, you'll be fine,” Foggy told him. “Just use some of your charm, and everyone will fall head over heels for you.”

Matt smirked at him. “I am good at that, aren't I?”

“Which is totally not fair, by the way,” Foggy pointed out. “I want some of those superpowers.”

“You would use them for evil,” Matt laughed.

Foggy shrugged. “Semantics. Now, you ready to be pinched and cooed at by multiple generations of the Nelson clan?”

Matt grinned. “As ready as I'll ever be.”

 

Foggy led him down the stairs to the living room, where his Aunt Nora and Aunt Gillian were seated on the couch next to the tree.

“Foggy!” Aunt Nora greeted.

“Aunt Nora,” Foggy replied, bending down to hug her. “Aunt Gillian. No kids with you tonight?”

“They're all still hard at work,” Aunt Gillian told him. “Just us.”

“Well ladies, this is my friend Matt Murdock. He's staying with me over the holidays like a stray puppy.”

Aunt Nora beamed at him. “Is this the Matthew we're always hearing about?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Foggy blushed. “You're not always hearing about him, don't exaggerate. His head is swollen enough already.”

Matt grinned. “Pleasure to meet you,” he told them, holding out a hand for them to shake. Aunt Nora disregarded it completely, and got up to wrap Matt in a hug.

Foggy smirked at the shocked expression on his face.

 

The doorbell rang. “Hey Matt, I'm gonna go get that. You stay here and... socialize, alright?”

Matt, now released from Aunt Nora's arms, nodded, and felt for the couch to sit down on.

Foggy could hear her asking him questions as he headed to the door, and grinned to himself. He was almost sorry for getting Matt into this, but not quite sorry enough to rescue him.

 

Uncle Andrew and Maya were at the door.

“Hey Maya,” Foggy greeted the young girl. She was wrapped up in a pink coat, and was peering shyly around her father's leg.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“I brought a friend for you to meet,” Foggy told her, crouching down to eye level. “His name is Matt, and I bet you are going to like him.”

“Is this your friend from school?” Uncle Andrew asked, helping Maya remove one of her boots.

“Yeah, he's my roommate.”

“Oh, the blind one?”

“Well, I only have one roommate, so yes, the blind one. Please don't call him that though.”

Uncle Andrew laughed. “I'm not entirely without tact, Franklin. Can't make any promises for Maya though.”

“Eh, Matt'll fall in love with her in about 30 seconds. I guarantee it.”

Maya took off running into the house as soon as her boots were removed. Uncle Andrew watched her go. “Let's hope so. She's into everything, and never stops asking questions.”

 

The doorbell rang again. Foggy opened the door to find a crowd of people. It was Uncle Derek and Aunt Karla, along with their three children.

“Hey guys,” Foggy greeted. Nicholas only grunted as he pushed past Foggy into the house.

Aunt Karla winced. “Sorry, he's in a mood. How are you doing? How's school?”

“Pretty good,” Foggy told her, moving aside to allow everyone in the house. “Although I'm glad exams are done.”

“You and me both,” Marlene chimed in.

 

Foggy's dad poked his head around the corner. “Hey Derek, Karla, kids. Franklin, Cindy will be here soon with Grandma. She called a little bit ago to let us know she was on her way.”

“Why are you telling me?”

“So you can answer the door? I don't know. Your mother told me to tell you.”

Foggy sighed. “Okay, sure. Can you check on Matt? I left him alone with Aunt Nora, and I'm afraid she's cross examining him.”

“Ooh, look at you with your lawyer talk. Yeah, I'll check on him.”

His dad disappeared, and the rest of the relatives scattered into the house, leaving Foggy standing at the door alone. He wasn't sure where Lili was, not like it mattered, since she was pretty useless at the whole entertaining guests thing, but he didn't think it was fair that she got out of answering the door.

 

The doorbell rang again, for what Foggy hoped would be the last time, because their house was reaching its breaking point. Plus, almost everyone was there.

“Oh hello Franklin,” his grandmother greeted him. “Take these, will you?” She thrust a number of gift bags into his hands.

“Oh, sure. I'll just... put these by the tree then?”

 

Apparently his dad didn't do such a good job of checking on Matt, because Maya was sitting on his lap reading him a picture book.

“What's that word?” she asked him.

Foggy held back his snort as Matt only smiled at her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO MANY NELSONS.


	13. Chapter 13

They did presents before dinner, because Maya couldn't wait any longer. Plus she was likely to fall asleep shortly after dinner.

 

The presents were mostly for the kids, namely Maya, Alexis, and Nicholas, but there were giftcards and assorted necessities for the older ones. Foggy received multiple pairs of socks, which he had to admit he needed, as well as giftcards to coffee shops on campus, which were literally his life blood.

So he was grateful for that.

 

And of course, everyone received their annual sweater from Grandma.

 

Matt was surprised to find that Foggy's grandmother had made him one as well.

He opened the package to find a soft fabric, and ran his fingers over the raised letters on the front. “What does it say?” he asked.

“It says Matthew,” Foggy told him.

Matt blushed. “Thank you Charlotte, very much.”

“Oh, it's no trouble,” she told him. “I make sweaters for each of my grandkids, and when Franklin told me you'd be here for Christmas, I made you one too.”

“Thank you,” he repeated, running his fingers over the lettering again.

 

“All right,” Foggy's mother announced, clapping her hands together. “Clean up all the wrapping paper, cause it's time to eat! Kids at the table, adults can fight over the couches and other assorted chairs. One bun per person, and I will notice if you sneak another one, Derek.”

Uncle Derek looked scandalized. “I would never-”

“I have photographic proof from last year, don't push your luck.”

He sighed, and nodded.

Matt was grinning at the thinly veiled chaos around him. Foggy nudged him. “Having fun?”

“So much,” Matt admitted. “And this sweater is so soft.”

“I might have mentioned to Grandma that you have a thing for cashmere,” Foggy admitted.

Matt swatted at Foggy.

“Come on,” Foggy told him. “We'd better get a bun before Uncle Derek tries to steal them out from under us.”

“Is that a normal thing?” Matt asked, getting to his feet and taking Foggy's arm.

“Sadly, yes.”

 

* * *

 

They managed to snag both buns, and a spot at the table. Technically it was the kid's table, but there were only so many children, and Foggy totally used Matt's blindness as an excuse for them to get a stable eating surface.

“I like eating at a table, okay. There's nothing weird about it Matt,” Foggy said defensively.

Matt smirked at him. “I said nothing.”

“Yeah, but you're doing that look,” Foggy complained.

“What look? I'm incapable of doing any sorts of looks,” Matt retorted.

Foggy scowled.

 

Alexis was watching their conversation with interest.

“How's school?” Foggy asked her. “What grade are you in now? Two? Three?”

“Grade three,” she told him, eyeing Matt as she did.

“And do you like it?” Foggy continued.

She shrugged, watching Matt chase peas around his plate. And peas were hard, okay. It wasn't just a blind thing.

“How are you going to be a lawyer if you're blind?” Nicholas piped in.

Marlene swatted him on the back of the head. “Nicholas, that is rude,” she hissed.

Matt shrugged. “You don't need sight to be a lawyer,” he told him. “You have to be good at arguing in front of people.”

“Have you ever been rock climbing?” Nicholas asked, ignoring the looks Marlene was sending him. “I went last month for my birthday and it was awesome. Can you do rock climbing?”

Matt smiled a little. “No, I haven't been rock climbing. Maybe one day.”

“How are you liking school Nicholas?” Foggy asked, giving Matt a chance to wrangle the last of his peas.

“It sucks,” Nicholas told him. “But next year I get to dissect a frog, so that'll be awesome.”

Alexis shrieked at that and startled Maya, who was mixing the peas in with her potatoes, possibly to hide them.

“That's enough Nicholas,” Marlene told him. “Eat quietly or take your plate to the kitchen.”

Nicholas scowled at her, but finished eating in silence.

 

They all finished up shortly after that, Matt having given up on the final few peas on his plate, or possibly not knowing they still existed. Foggy couldn't be sure. He took his and Maya's plate to the kitchen and returned to Matt at the table.

“We can probably join the adults now,” Foggy told him. “If there's any space left in the living room, that is.” He peered around the corner of the dining room. “On second thought, maybe we'll just drag our chairs in there.”

“Franklin, are you and Matt coming in here?” Aunt Nora called. “There's room on the couch next to me.”

Foggy shrugged. “Apparently we'll fit,” he told Matt, who grinned and got to his feet.

“Franklin!” his mother called. “Marlene needs help with the dishes. Can you come and help her please?”

“I've got to go help with dishes,” Foggy sighed. “You just keep working that Murdock charm, and I'll be back soon.”

“Sure you don't want some help?” Matt asked, grinning.

“You know damn well I do not after what happened last time,” Foggy hissed.

He turned his back on Matt and stalked to the kitchen. They'd lost nearly half of their plates when Matt had last helped with dishes in the dorm. Foggy took dish duty after that.

 

Matt sat down on the couch next to Aunt Nora, and Foggy headed to the kitchen.

 

Dish duty wasn't entirely awful. Foggy had to make small talk with Marlene while she washed and he dried, but she was in med school, and sympathized with his hectic exam schedule.

Foggy replaced the last dish in the cupboard before heading to the living room.

“Where's Matt?” Foggy asked, after scanning the room for his friend and not locating him anywhere amongst the fair haired clan.

“I think he went upstairs to get something,” Aunt Nora told him. “To your room.” She winked at him.

Foggy had no idea what that meant, but he headed upstairs to try and locate Matt. God, he hoped he hadn't gotten lost and ended up in his sister's room. It was a mess, and he would no doubt get trapped in a pile of clothes and never be seen again.

 

Thankfully, Matt was indeed in Foggy's room, sprawled face down on the bed.

“Hey Matt. The Nelson clan get too much for you?” It happened sometimes. Matt just got overwhelmed in crowds or large groups. He usually just needed to go somewhere quiet to collect himself, and then he'd be good. Foggy hoped it was the case this time.

 

There was a muffled sniffle from the bed.

 

“Aw, shit, Matt, don't cry. What happened? Did someone say something to you?”

Foggy pulled at Matt's shoulder gently until he rolled over. He'd taken his glasses off before burying his face in the pillow, and his eyes were red. Definitely crying. Foggy did not know how to deal with that.

“No,” Matt choked out. He shook his head to emphasize the point. “Everyone's been great. Really great.”

“Then why are you crying?” Foggy asked, at a loss. He sat down on the bed next to Matt.

“Cause it's so happy,” Matt sniffled.

Foggy finally got it. He flopped over next to Matt so they were laying side by side.

“Oh,” he whispered.

Matt sniffed again. “I'm sorry. It's just that... Christmas hasn't been the same since my dad died, and the orphanage couldn't really afford to have a big celebration, and when I was on my own, I didn't do much, so to go from that to this, it's just... overwhelming. In a good way,” he added, in case Foggy was unsure.

“Oh,” Foggy said again, because _jesus_ what else can you say to that? 'Sorry your childhood sucked'?

Matt wiped at his eyes. Even though the reason the glasses were off wasn't that great, Foggy was still grateful he got to see Matt's eyes. The guy was really self conscious about them, even though they looked fine. Foggy suspected it had more to do with the fact that they never focused on anything rather than the appearance of them. They were nice though.

Matt sniffled again. “'M sorry for doing this,” he mumbled.

“Dude, no problem. You've seen me fall apart more than once, and believe me, you're way better at the whole supportive friend thing.”

“Shut up,” Matt told him, but it was muffled between the pillow and the smile that had begun to appear on his face.

“Never,” Foggy smirked. “Now, we'd better get back downstairs before my aunt decides we're up to something that we shouldn't be doing. Or they eat all the pie. That's probably more likely.”

Matt made a choking noise that Foggy realized was laughter. “I really hope it's the pie one.”

Foggy grinned, and set Matt's glasses in his hand. “I think the longer we're up here, the more likely it won't be that.”

Matt slipped his glasses on his face. Anyone who looked at him would never suspect he'd just been crying. Foggy supposed that was a perk of always wearing sunglasses. Along with the cool factor.

“Come on,” Foggy told him, poking at him. “It's pecan, and to die for.”

Matt grinned. “It better be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My notes for this chapter were literally: CHRISTMAS AND FOGGY TELLING HIS PARENTS AND MATT CRYING BECAUSE HIS DAD IS DEAD AND HIS MOM IS GONE AND HE'S ALONE BUT FOGGY MAKES HIM FEEL SO LOVED AND IT'S HAPPY CRYING AND SAD CRYING AT THE SAME TIME
> 
> So I guess it turned out pretty well?


	14. Chapter 14

Christmas morning was a lot quieter. Lili didn't wake them up until nearly 9am, with the announcement that “I swear I will eat all the cinnamon buns if you don't get down here, losers.”

 

There was a modest pile of presents under the tree, some of them wrapped by Matt, which did turn out to look rather nice.

There was one that was inside out, but that one was addressed to Foggy, so he couldn't be sure if it was on purpose or not.

Matt had gotten him a beginner's guide to braille. “So you can figure out if I'm reading the same textbook all week or not,” he grinned. Foggy threw a pillow at him before Matt opened the present from him, which was a cashmere scarf that Foggy had spent nearly an hour picking out. He'd gone around the entire store, feeling up all the scarves for the softest one.

Matt put it on immediately and didn't take it off for the rest of the day.

 

Matt dragged him to church later, and although Foggy felt vastly out of place amongst all the Catholics, he couldn't deny a certain sense of peace that fell over him.

 

* * *

 

 

Christmas break was over all too soon, and it was only shortly after they rung in the new year that they took the bus back to campus.

 

(Staying up til midnight was no stretch for them, but they'd made a scene out of it and toasted at midnight with carbonated water, since they didn't have any wine or champagne. Foggy declared his resolution to be to take his meds, always, and to tell his parents by the end of the year. “Both things,” he clarified, because he knew Matt would ask. It took Matt a little longer to come up with a resolution, but he finally told Foggy that he wanted to make his father proud. They both drank to that.)

 

It was almost nice to be back on campus and to settle into a routine, but second semester started fast and hard and they were soon buried in work.

 

He saw the psychiatrist again in February, and reported that everything was going pretty well. The meds appeared to be working, since he hadn't had any major mood swings since the mixed episode the previous year. He felt hopeful about the future.

Dr Bianchi praised Foggy, told him to keep taking his medication, and to call if he needed anything. They made an appointment for May, before he'd go home for the summer.

 

Foggy felt pretty good about that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a lil chapter.   
> When we get into the actual episodes, the chapters are longer.


	15. Chapter 15

First year finished, and Foggy went home. Matt apparently had a little apartment in the Kitchen that he rented during the summer, and stayed more or less empty during the rest of the year because no one else wanted it. It wasn't far from Foggy's place, and he made sure to visit him as often as he could, in between working at his father's store and trying to find a job doing actual lawyer-ish stuff.

 

* * *

 

When Foggy saw Matt's place, he knew why it was empty most of the year. It was two rooms, and the living space was about the size of a closet. To top it off, it was facing one of the new building that had gone up in the last couple of years, the kind that was entirely covered with mirrored glass. The glare _hurt._ Which of course didn't bother Matt. Foggy hoped his rent was cheap.

 

Matt did have two chairs though, and Foggy threw himself in one of them, accepting the beer that Matt offered him.

“You working?” he asked.

“Yeah, I've got a job as a bike messenger,” Matt deadpanned.

Foggy swatted him.

Matt laughed and shrugged him off. “Yeah, I'm doing some transcribing work. Old case files for some smaller firms mostly. Some of them are even on actual tapes still.”

“Those still exist?”

“Not for long,” Matt grinned. “Pays well enough, and I don't have to leave my apartment.”

Foggy rolled his eyes. “Yes, because why would you ever want to leave this palace?” He threw his arms out, nearly hitting both walls in the process.

Matt huffed at him. “Hey, it's cheap.”

“It had better be,” Foggy told him, placing a hand on Matt's shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Foggy made an effort to visit Matt at least once a week, even if it was just to make sure he was still alive and eating. Every two weeks or so he'd take him grocery shopping, since Matt wouldn't really go on his own. Foggy didn't blame him; he had a hard enough time shopping when he could see what he was buying.

Matt was good with the fresh fruit and vegetables, always knowing when they were ripe, but when it came to anything in packaging, he was, well, blind. So Foggy helped him out with that, and while they carried the groceries home, Matt would tell him about the cases he'd been working on.

 

Once after shopping, Foggy took Matt to get ice cream. Matt was very quiet while he ate his cone, quieter than normal, and didn't answer when Foggy asked him what was wrong. Matt just shook his head.

 

Summer was over before either of them knew it, and they headed back to Columbia for their second year of law school.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Their second year passed a lot the same as the first. Foggy didn't have any major breakdowns, but he did have a hypomania episode that required him to have his medication increased. (It could have gone worse if Matt hadn't talked him out of planning a trip to South America to build houses, and made him go to the doctor instead. As it was, Foggy still spent a lot of time researching flights when he should have been studying.)

Matt seemed relatively okay. Foggy didn't come across him standing on the roof, which could have been due to the fact they'd moved from the dorms into a small apartment with a fully functional kitchen. (No more cooking on hotplates for them!) The building they were in was only two stories tall, compared to the residence building, which was seven.

 

Matt still didn't like to talk about how he was feeling, but he did seem less stressed. Foggy attributed that to the fact that Matt had been going to the gym almost every other day, whenever he could fit it in around studying. Endorphins or whatever were good for depression.

 

* * *

 

The summer after second year they stayed in the apartment together. Foggy got his own job working at a coffee shop nearby, and Matt applied there as well. It was mostly for a joke, but Foggy insisted he could actually be good at it.

“Plus, there's the whole legal thing of them not being able to discriminate against you for being blind.”

Matt laughed. “It's so nice to hear you've learned things from law school.”

Foggy shrugged, grinning. “I pick up some stuff.”

 

The coffee shop didn't hire Matt, but it was alright, because he got his job from the previous summer back, and he claimed to like it better than he could any job in a coffee shop, so everything worked out.

 

The air conditioning broke during the hottest week in August, and they spent most of their spare time in the coffee shop. Matt was supposed to work from home, but he'd never done well in the heat, and his laptop was portable enough. After his shift, Foggy would order them coffee and some of the danishes he'd hidden away earlier, and they would take up a table until the store closed.

Those were some of the best days they'd ever had, both of them drunk on summer and good coffee and the promising future of a law career after only one more year of school.

 

* * *

 

Third year was similar to the first two. The major difference was that second semester required them to do pro bono work. They managed to land an internship at Landman and Zack, which a lot of their classmates were jealous about.

Foggy would be the first to admit it was stressful, even if fascinating. He knew Matt wasn't a fan of the corporate law, like he'd told him dozens of times when they were drunk or while he was writing an essay, but Matt knew what an opportunity it was.

 

Still, when the opportunity for them to work there came up and Matt seemed hesitant about taking it, Foggy knew that it wouldn't happen. Even if he had to steal a lot of bagels to console himself about it. He knew that he'd follow Matt anywhere.

Even if L&Z had really good health insurance. Still, a small price to pay.

 

* * *

 

The medication helped. Foggy used the term 'helped' because it didn't fix anything. He still got depressive periods, but they weren't as severe. He knew the lithium helped, but wasn't a cure. He didn't have any more mixed episodes or full on hypomania episodes, and for that he was eternally grateful. Sometimes there would be hints of a hypomania episode, but it never seemed to develop into anything.

Foggy kind of missed them. He missed being able to stay awake for days, the feeling of being on top of the world, but he knew it wasn't worth it.

 

The depression was the hard part. And Foggy had come to accept that, yes, he had depression. Not major depressive disorder, like Matt (since Foggy was sure that's what he'd been diagnosed with by the psychiatrist, even though he hadn't shared, and Foggy hadn't pushed), but he still had depressive episodes where it was hard to get out of bed and the world was always cold and no matter how much he ate, he always still felt empty.

 

But it was better. He was better. He recognized that. But he also knew it was something that would never go away, that his fucked up brain chemistry would never miraculously right itself. He would probably have to take medication for the rest of his life, and still experience depressive episodes, and maybe even more hypomania episodes. There was no telling how he'd continue to respond to the meds.

 

And there were side effects. There always were. Foggy knew that. There was no easy fix for something like this. The nausea decreased after the first couple of months, but the weight gain stuck. He knew it was a possibility, but he was hoping that he'd be one of the lucky few that avoided it. Since he hadn't managed to avoid much else, it seemed.

He had to go for lab tests to monitor the levels of the drug in his blood. Jesus, he hated needles.

 

But he knew it was worth it. No matter what, the meds were worth it, because he needed to be there for Matt.

 

* * *

 

He graduated cum laude, and Matt graduated summa cum laude. He probably could have too, if he'd signed up with disability services like his psychiatrist suggested during first year, but things had improved since then, and he didn't have any major incidents that interfered with his schoolwork. The minor things were enough to inch him from summa into just cum laude territory, but he was proud of his work nonetheless.

 

The graduation ceremony was one of the proudest moments of his life. Far too much of his extended family came, but it nearly made up for Matt having no one there. They cheered just as loud for Matt as they did for Foggy, and they all squeezed him tightly in hugs afterwards.

 

“We made it buddy,” Foggy said to him at one point, crushed in a mob of Nelsons. Matt grinned back.

In the sunshine of the spring day, surrounded by his family and with his best friend, Foggy felt like they could take on the world.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insert angst here.

They'd just declined the job offers from Landman and Zack. It was a terrifying new world filled with possibilities, and like any young twenty somethings, they decided to do what they knew best to deal with it. They got drunk.

 

They were at Foggy's apartment, because Matt was in the middle of a move and half of his stuff was boxed up, and the other half was in his new place. Foggy's apartment had the bonus of a queen size bed that they could both sprawl on at the same time, since Matt tended to get clingy when he was drunk, and Foggy was not about to fall off a tiny twin bed just because Matt decided to become an octopus.

 

They'd split half a bottle of vodka between them so far, the good stuff, because Matt had declared it was worth it, and life was too short to drink shitty alcohol. Maybe not in those words, but Foggy couldn't quite remember, and was romanticizing it a bit.

 

The point was, they were both quite drunk, and were on their way to becoming black out drunk. Well, in Foggy's case. Matt was already there, as he pointed out helpfully. They'd moved on from giggling about various things to the more serious topics, and Foggy was feeling kind of down about the whole thing.

 

“M'not supposed to drink with my meds,” Foggy muttered into a pillow. “Well. I can. Won't kill me. But s'not good.” He lifted his head up a bit to look at Matt. “What about you? Can you drink with your meds?”

Matt hummed.

Foggy frowned. “Are you even taking meds?”

Matt shrugged.

Foggy rolled over and sighed. “Dude, you know that I will support you if you want to do it without meds, but I worry, okay.”

“I know,” Matt muttered. He'd taken his glasses off, and his eyes were closed, not like it mattered. Foggy wondered what he saw. If it was darkness, or nothingness. There was a difference. He was sure of it. He just wasn't sure how to ask without it sounding offensive. Even if neither of them remembered the conversation in the morning, Foggy still didn't want to go there.

“I'm doing okay,” Matt sighed.

Foggy hummed back. Two could play at that game.

“I... talk to someone.”

“Is that someone your priest?” Foggy asked. Matt didn't reply, which was answer enough.

“That might save your soul or whatever, but what about your head? It's important too,” Foggy told him sagely, because he'd been to enough therapists to know that.

Matt only sighed. “I know.”

“Did you ever try meds?”

Matt was quiet for a minute, but Foggy waited.

Matt sighed before answering. “No. I wanted to try without them first, but then I saw what the drugs did to you, and I never wanted that to happen to me. I didn't want to be... clouded.” Foggy noticed that Matt clenched his fists as he said it, but didn't comment.

“Matty, they were the wrong medications for me. Not all drugs do that. I'm good now, right?”

Matt shrugged.

 

They laid quietly for a minute, the sounds of the city around them mixed with the occasional rustle of fabric as one of them shifted on Foggy's flannel sheets.

 

“You know, sometimes I envied you,” Matt confessed quietly.

Foggy was startled, but tried not to let it show. “Why?”

“Because you weren't just depressed. You were sometimes, and I knew it was awful for you, but it was one of those misery loves company things. Because then I wasn't alone. But that wasn't it. You'd get happy sometimes, like, ridiculously happy, and I'd kind of hate you because I wanted to be happy, but it seemed impossible for me, so far out of reach. I was jealous that you could break free of the depression and I couldn't. Because I wasn't strong enough.”

“Matty,” Foggy whispered, reaching a hand out.

Matt shook it off. “And I know that's kind of an awful thing to say, because you always came back down, you crashed _hard_ and I hated seeing you like that because every time you went back to being depressed you knew just how much you'd lost. But at least you'd gotten that time where you didn't absolutely hate yourself.”

Foggy was pretty sure Matt was crying at this point. He might have been crying a little bit too.

“I know it wasn't easy. I know,” he repeated. “But that didn't make it any easier on me either, because I just wanted us to both just be happy, you know? Or at least not so depressed all the time.”

“I know buddy,” Foggy whispered, reaching a hand out to stroke Matt's hair. He wasn't pushed away this time.

Matt sniffled. “I'm such a mess when I'm drunk,” he admitted.

“S'okay,” Foggy mumbled. “We'll forget this in the morning.”

Matt nodded, and curled up on his side, facing Foggy.

Foggy got up from the bed, the room tilting precariously for a moment before he regained his balance, and pulled an extra blanket from his closet. Matt was lying on top of the other one, and Foggy sure as hell wasn't going to move him. He draped the blanket over Matt and crawled underneath what was left of it.

His face was still covered in tear tracks, and he wiped them off on the pillow before flipping it over and setting his head down on the cool side. Matt's breathing had evened out, and Foggy wondered if he was asleep.

 

“It'll be okay, Matty,” he whispered. “We're gonna be the best damn avocados. Stupid things like depression can't stop us.”

Matt made a contented noise before they both drifted off into sleep.

 

* * *

 

Foggy was able to make Matt go to a therapist. One visit that he knew about, but it was better than nothing. He didn't remember the conversation they had that night, but he knew he had to do something about Matt's depression, and sometimes being a supportive friend involved making someone do something they didn't want to do.

Matt thanked him quietly after, and Foggy didn't say anything else on the topic for a while.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, I angsted everywhere. A lot of this was personal for me, and I might have cried a bunch while writing/rereading it, so yeah.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we get into canon and go through about nine episodes in one chapter.  
> Slightly AU, because it made the plot better.

Business plans actually developed after that. Matt was better with the logistics than Foggy was, but Foggy always had been a bit of a dreamer.

 

He drew the first sign on a napkin in Josie's bar while Matt sat by with an injury he claimed to get from taking out the trash. And okay. Foggy could buy that. New York was a dangerous place. He had no reason to suspect Matt was hurting himself. (Not that he watched Matt's arms for signs that he was.)

 

They toasted to their firm to be and didn't even care that they spilled some on the napkin sign.

“Nelson and Murdock, attorneys at law,” Foggy said proudly.

“Nelson and Murdock,” Matt echoed. He grinned.

 

* * *

 

They got their own offices and Nelson and Murdock became official. They had their first client, who became their secretary, and Foggy hopelessly flirted with her. She seemed to be into Matt, who seemed to be oblivious to the whole thing. But whatever. Foggy wasn't going to let that stop him.

 

Things were good. Foggy's meds were working and Karen seemed to be growing more comfortable with them and they had more clients and word was spreading about their practice, and sometimes Matt even smiled. God, Foggy loved it when Matt smiled. Sure, shit was still happening, and there was a man trying to control their city, but they were working on it. Things were good.

 

But then Elena died and they all got drunk and as if that wasn't bad enough, Foggy showed up at Matt's door, only to find him passed out on the floor of his apartment, covered in blood and wearing only his underwear.

It took that a couple of minutes to sink in before Foggy realized he should do something about the whole _bleeding out thing._ (There was a brief moment of _oh fuck I'm hallucinating this is the full blown mania I've heard about_ before he realized that this was actually happening.)

 

Matt tried to punch him when Foggy suggested a hospital, and insisted he call Hottie McBurner phone instead, whose name turned out to be Claire.

She brought over a medical kit that appeared to be half of a hospital and stitched Matt back together, taping bandages over the worst of the cuts. She left after giving Foggy instructions to keep Matt as quiet and still as possible.

 

Foggy asked her how they met, why hers was the only number in Matt's second phone. If she was the one who'd patched him up the last couple of times when he'd come into work with professionally applied bandages.

She didn't answer him. Apparently that was something he'd have to ask Matt himself.

 

Foggy grabbed another beer from Matt's fridge. Alcohol made some of the side effects of his medication worse, but he was kind of hungover and didn't care at the moment. Not with the upcoming conversation he'd have to have with Matt as soon as he woke up.

Whenever he woke up.

Foggy could wait.

 

* * *

 

“Wouldn't do that if I were you,” Foggy warned as Matt began to stir. “But then, I don't really know you as well as I thought.”

“Foggy,” Matt sighed. “Foggy, I'm sorry... that you found me like that.”

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” Foggy demanded. “Cause this is reminding me a hell of a lot of the time I found you on the roof.”

“No... Foggy... I'm not. Please don't think that.”

Foggy threw up his arms. “Matt I found you covered in blood on your floor! What else am I supposed to think?”

Matt tried to pull himself up on the couch. “Foggy, I would never-”

“You come into work covered with bruises all the time. You've always got a healing cut somewhere. What else am I supposed to think?”

“Foggy,” Matt pleaded.

“No,” Foggy told him, pointing a finger at him. “No, it's my turn to talk. I take my meds. I deal with the side effects, and believe me, they suck a lot of the time. But I still do it, because I promised you.” It had never been spoken out loud, but Foggy had made it to himself, and it was just the sort of thing you never wanted to have to say to anyone. “I knew how scared you were when you had to take me to the hospital that night. And believe me, it scared the shit out of me too. So I promised that as soon as we got my meds sorted out, I would stick to them, because I never wanted to scare you like that again.”

He took a deep breath.

“And I know we never actually said it, but I was kind of hoping you'd never do anything like that to me. So what the hell is this?”

Something in Matt's face fell.

“I didn't do this Foggy,” he pleaded. “Not to myself. It was...”

“Who?” Foggy demanded. “Who did this to you, because I swear I will kick their ass.”

Matt shook his head.

“Matthew Murdock,” Foggy growled. “You tell me who did this to you right now, or Nelson and Murdock is through.”

That struck a nerve with Matt. Although even Foggy wasn't sure if he meant it or not.

“Nobu,” he whispered.

“Who?”

“I think he's some sort of... ninja. Or something.”

Foggy didn't say anything for a minute. Couldn't.

“Are you fucking with me Matt? Because I swear to god if you are fucking with me-”

“Foggy,” Matt pleaded. Jesus, he sounded almost in tears. “Nobu... he worked for Fisk. Or with him. I don't know. But he attacked me.”

“Worked. Past tense,” Foggy said flatly.

Matt winced, realizing his mistake. “He's dead now. I think. I left before I could be sure. He kind of... caught on fire.”

Foggy resumed pacing around the room. “Jesus Matt,” he hissed.

Matt had slumped back on the couch, his breathing shallow and rapid. Foggy had no doubt that he was in pain.

“Fisk though?” he hissed. “Fisk was the one who did this?”

“Sort of? Indirectly.”

“I'm going to kill him,” Foggy decided. “That absolute _asshole-_ ”

“Foggy,” Matt begged.

“Not now. Stop talking,” Foggy ordered.

Matt fell silent.

 

Foggy sank into a chair, the exhaustion and worry finally catching up with him.

“What have you been doing Matty? What did you get yourself into? You were the one who told us to go after Fisk the right way, the legal way. Why did you think you could do anything different?”

Foggy looked at him.

Matt's bottom lip was quivering like he was about to cry. Jesus, Foggy didn't want him to cry.

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before finally saying something.

“I'm...”

He winced and closed his eyes for a second. “You have to promise to listen. You can leave after, but you have to listen first. Please. Promise me that.”

God, what kind of person did Matt think he was? He wasn't going to leave his best friend while he was like this, no matter what he said.

“Of course. I promise.”

Matt nodded. He opened his eyes again, and turned his glance more in Foggy's direction.

“I'm the man in the mask.”

 

Foggy felt like all the air in the room had been sucked out and replaced with nothingness.

 

Matt was still talking, and Foggy forced himself to listen.

“Please Foggy, listen. You promised that you would listen.”

“Yeah,” Foggy choked out.

Matt sighed, wincing again. “The first thing you have to know is that I didn't blow up those buildings, or hurt those cops. It was Fisk. It was all Fisk.”

He sounded breathless, and Foggy wondered if he'd noticed all the air was gone too.

“All I was doing, everything that I ever did, was to try and help. The little boy that was kidnapped by the Russians? I brought him back. Human traffickers, working out of the docks. I took care of them.”

“Karen,” Foggy whispered. “You rescued Karen.”

“Yeah.”

“But... how can you do all those things? You're _blind_ Matt.”

An even worse thought hit him.

“Or... are you? Jesus Matt, have you been lying to me every since we've met?”

The small amount of beer he'd drank threatened to make a reappearance, and he used all his willpower to force it to stay where it was.

 

All those years together, all the things they'd been through, all the struggles they'd had... were none of them real? Was anything real? What if Foggy didn't know Matt at all, not really.

 

“Was anything ever real with us?” Foggy whispered.

 

“Of course it was.” Matt pushed himself up on the couch. It was evident on his face that it pained him, but he kept going. “Foggy, I never wanted to lie to you. I hated every minute of it. I hated not being able to tell you the truth. But I was trying to protect you. You have to understand that.”

“Are you even blind?” Foggy demanded.

Matt sagged. “Yes, I'm blind.”

“Then how the hell do you do... whatever it is you do?” Foggy yelled, swinging his arm in sweeping motions as he spoke. “How are you the man in the mask if you can't see?”

“I can see, sort of.”

“What the fuck are you saying Matt?”

Matt took a deep breath. “I can't see. That much is true. No light perception, just like I told you when we first met. I never lied about that. But there's more that I didn't tell you. My hearing is enhanced, and so are my other senses. Together they build a sort of picture of the world, like an impressionistic painting. It looks like a world on fire, if everything was engulfed in flames.”

That sounded kind of awful.

“So you can see,” Foggy said flatly.

“That's not... You're not... are you even listening to what I'm saying?” He sounded so tired, but Foggy couldn't let him rest yet, not until he had more answers.

“Yeah, world on fire, I got it. But _jesus_ Matt, that's something you should have told me about.”

“I didn't even tell my dad after it happened,” he protested, like that was an excuse, like his father was alive for more than just a short period after he was blinded. Like that explained anything.

“You told that nurse, Claire.”

“I had to,” Matt protested weakly. “She found me in a dumpster, half dead. She didn't tell you?”

Foggy glared at him. “No. She didn't. She wouldn't say anything about all of this.” He gestured to the room at large before sinking back down into the chair. “She seemed nice,” he noted.

“She is,” Matt agreed.

 

Foggy stood up to pace around the room again. “Jesus Matt, what are you doing. Really. You're a lawyer, you're supposed to be helping people.”

“I am,” he protested. It was yet another testament to his state that he didn't protest Foggy's language.

“In a mask! As a vigilante! That's not how you're supposed to do things!”

Matt tilted his head to face more in Foggy's direction. “Would you have done it? If you could have saved Elena, would you have?”

Foggy glared at him. _How dare he._ “It's not fair Matt.”

“We don't live in a world that's fair,” Matt asserted. “We live in this one. And I'm doing everything I can to make it a better place.”

Foggy scoffed. “You sound just like Fisk.”

Matt's face fell. “Don't say that. Don't twist it around.”

“Did you ever stop to think what would happen if you got caught? About what would happen to me or Karen? It's not just about you anymore Matt. Did you ever think about us?”

“Of course I did,” he whispered. “That's what all of this was about.”

“Did you honestly think that anyone would believe we didn't know?” Foggy demanded.

Matt's face crumpled. “The city needs me in that mask, Foggy.”

“Maybe you're right. Maybe it does. But I don't. I only ever needed my friend.”

_More than you could possibly know._

“I wouldn't have kept this from you, Matt. Not from you.”

_I would have told you about it, like I told you about me being bipolar, about the shitty medication, about the awful side effects. Hell, you were the first person I came out to. I didn't keep any of that from you. Because you're my best friend._

Matt was in tears now. “You don't know that. You don't know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

He stormed towards the door, done with the conversation.

“Foggy... wait. Foggy,” Matt called after him.

Foggy left without looking back.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the last real one, and the next one is more of an epilogue. I debated throwing it in or not, because it's fluff and cheesiness, but I figure we could use it after this whole thing. So stay tuned for that.

He stewed for a couple days. The betrayal, the hurt, it was all too fresh for him to even think about talking to Matt. Every time he thought about him the rage in his chest threatened to boil over. Foggy had never been a violent person (except for that time Karen was attacked, but it was the exception to the rule) but quite a few books paid the price those days when they were hurled at the walls.

 

But then he remembered how Matt looked, so pale and fragile on that couch, the cuts and blood in harsh contrast with the pallor of his skin. He remembered the way Matt's voice broke as he tried to explain, how he held back the tears and _swore_ to Foggy that he never wanted to lie to him.

He remembered how terrified he'd been when he found Matt on the floor, in a pool of his own blood, certain that his best friend was already dead by his own hand. Jesus, he wasn't even sure if this was worse. At least Foggy knew how to deal with depression. Knew how to deal with suicidal tendencies. He had no clue what to do about vigilantism.

 

He felt for the scars on his arm. They were barely visible, only in the right light and if you knew what you were looking for, but they could be felt. Sometimes Foggy needed them to remind him why he took his medication each day, why he had to keep going. Because he couldn't scare Matty like that ever again. Or himself.

 

He had to talk to Matt.

 

* * *

 

Foggy had a good idea of where he would be, if he wasn't in his apartment or the office. He'd known about Matt's workout destination for a while, and it wasn't difficult to find out it was where his father trained and had most of his fights. What he didn't understand was why Matt kept going back there if it held so many difficult memories.

But it wasn't the time to question it, it was time to talk.

 

When Foggy arrived, Matt was beating up a punching bag, probably imagining it was Fisk or the douche who'd killed Elena.

 

Matt kept punching for a few more minutes before stopping and asking him.

“How'd you know I was here?”

“I've known about your outlet for a while. Figured it might have had something to do with your dad, or maybe it helped with the depression, but now I know better.”

Matt paused for a moment. “It does help,” he said quietly. He resumed. “Why weren't you at the funeral?”

Foggy winced. “Is Karen mad?”

Matt paused again. “She's pissed,” he admitted. He gave up on the bag and started unwrapping his hands.

“I'm sorry,” Foggy offered.

“Tell her, not me.”

Foggy shook his head. “No, this one's for you. I'm sorry for walking out the other night.”

Matt shrugged, unwinding the tape from his hands. “You had every right to be angry.”

“I was angry,” Foggy admitted. “I was angry and disappointed and scared and betrayed. I was kind of a mess.”

Matt paused and tilted his head. “You taking your meds?”

“Don't,” Foggy warned. “This isn't about the meds. This is not about me being bipolar. This is me, worrying about you, because you're a fucking vigilante!” He took a deep breath. “But we can't fight about that now. I'm here because we need each other. We have to work together to stop Fisk.”

Matt shook his head. “I won't have you getting hurt. I don't want you or Karen at risk. I need to do this on my own, to stop this before there's no one else to bury.”

“Matt, last time you fought Fisk, you nearly died. You can't do that again. I won't let you.”

“Then how are we supposed to stop him?” Matt asked, growing more desperate.

“By using the law,” Foggy told him, with more confidence than he felt.

“I thought Nelson and Murdock was over.”

Foggy shrugged. “Maybe it is. But there's nothing I want more than to find a way back to what we were before, but I don't know if we can,” Foggy admitted.

“No, we can't. But maybe we can find a way to move forward, Foggy.”

Foggy nodded. That's all he really wanted, and all he could really ask for.

 

The best damn avocados working together again.

 

* * *

 

Matt took down Fisk and didn't die, and Foggy almost considered becoming religious for a while, because surely that's the only way Matt survived. He came to his senses though once he remembered that Matt has always been a badass.

 

Fisk was put away and Matt said the city was quieter, and Foggy was sure that meant there were less screams and sirens at night, even if he's not the one who can hear them.

 

The sign got hung outside the building, and Foggy had never been so proud of such a tiny thing. Matt ran his fingers over it and smiled.

“Nelson and Murdock, avocados at law,” he muttered to himself.

Foggy beamed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also this chapter has one of my fav/heartbreaking lines it in.
> 
> Also some irl references. I just have a lot of feelings about this fic, okay?
> 
> PS I just thought of a possible sequel so idk if that will be happening. Thoughts?


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> throws fluff at you guys to make up for all the angst

The city was quieter, which meant Matt came into work with less bruises and cuts and Karen stopped asking Foggy if Matt was seeing someone that could be hurting him.

Karen still seemed on edge and skittish, but she had been through a lot of trauma, and Foggy figured it would take her time to heal. All wounds, or whatever the saying was.

 

Meanwhile, Foggy had taken to having Matt over every weekend to get him drunk to talk about his feelings. It wasn't exactly therapy, but it was the closest he could probably get, since the man was tight-lipped about everything while he was sober.

Foggy even used it as therapy for himself sometimes, since Matt usually didn't remember their conversations in the morning, thanks to a helpful combination of exhaustion and alcohol.

 

“I'm depressed you know Foggy,” Matt told him one night. He was particularly drunk that evening, since he'd already admitted to Foggy that he hadn't been able to prevent the kidnapping and subsequent sale into sex slavery of a twelve year old girl. The story alone had horrified Foggy, and he couldn't imagine how it had been for Matt, who had lived through it.

“Depressed,” he repeated, like he was testing out the word.

“Yeah Matty, I know,” Foggy told him. “I've known for a while. How are you doing though?”

Matt frowned, considering the question. “Better,” he announced. “My best friend isn't as mad at me anymore, which is nice. He found out my secret,” he stage whispered to Foggy. Matt sighed and rolled over, before rolling back. “I thought I was going to lose him forever,” Matt told him. “I don't know if I could have survived that. He's always been there, you know? Always. He's pretty great.”

Foggy smiled a little at that. “I'm sure he thinks the same about you.”

“Like, I know sometimes he's depressed,” Matt continued, without showing any signs of having heard him. “He takes meds for it, but they don't always work. I can tell. So I know he's depressed, but he's always there for me. Like, I don't know how he does it, but he's always there.” Matt's face softened. “I worry about him though. There was this one time in college... I thought he was trying to kill himself. I was scared that he was.”

Foggy hummed. “Have you ever... you know, tried it?” he whispered, figuring this was the only time he'd get the truth out of him.

Matt sighed. “Not really. There was this one time he found me on the roof. He thought I was going to jump. I might have,” he added. “But not to die. I was listening. I need to get one of those... shooty hook things so I can jump off stuff and not die.”

“So you've never tried to kill yourself?” Foggy asked quietly.

Matt shrugged. “Nah. But sometimes I just sort of...” he held a hand out flat and moved it through the air. “You know, just sort of... want it all to stop? Coast along for a while.” He sighed again. “Sometimes I'm reckless. I don't try to die, but if it had happened...” he shrugged. “Oh well.”

“Still?”

“Oh. No. Not anymore. I have too many things to live for.”

“That's good to hear Matty,” Foggy told him, patting his hair down as Matt curled up on his bed.

Matt hummed in contentment.

“Thanks buddy,” he murmured. “For everything. Really.”

Foggy startled a little. Had Matt been pretending to be more drunk than he really was, just to talk about his feelings?

Well, Foggy wouldn't put it past him.

He smiled. “No problem buddy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been considering doing a sequel to this from Matt's pov. Thoughts?

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song The Death of Me, by City and Colours.


End file.
